


A Masterpiece

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, alls good, bitty is gay for pianists, its self indulgent fluff ok, jack plays the piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty goes to explore the piano rooms at Samwell and discovers the captain likes Mozart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Masterpiece

**Author's Note:**

> Now, I couldn't think of a clef-er title, since those things aren't my forte, but I've been told I'm pretty sharp at writing, so hopefully this will measure up to your expectations. You might think "She really has to guitar act together", but I know how to conduct my writing. Don't call me a lyre if you didn't think that.
> 
> Oboey.

Bitty remembered from freshmen year a snippet of dialogue he had heard in passing, “You think Jack went to the music rooms?” “Probably, who even knows”. At that time, the Haus was a mystery, a place he felt welcomed in, but not a part of yet. He thought nothing of the conversation- he did not even remember who said it-but on this first snow day, Bitty found the early winter morning far too empty for his own likes. It was a Friday, one of the few days he did not have classes, and a day Jack only had evening lessons.

He could not remember what had sparked that memory in his mind-maybe it was a concert poster stapled on the cork board, Ransom mentioning offhand that he needed new guitar strings, either way, Bitty was curious about the music rooms. Bitty wrapped himself in eighteen layers and locked the Haus up before heading to the Art and Music building. As a young boy, like so many others, Eric had been forced to learn the piano, he had not gone very far, as he liked his ice skates better than theory books. Looking back, he did wish that he pushed harder to learn an instrument, as he was nearing 20, unable to hold a guitar properly.

“You have any rooms free?” Bitty pointed at the small hallway where the soft hum of pianos shimmered through the only mostly-sound proof walls. The girl reading looked up. She nodded.

“Second on the right, you have until 12:30 until someone’s reserved it.”

“Thanks, ma’am.”

The doors had a small rectangle window on all of them. He passed a younger girl with pink hair, a junior with bright red, and a senior with short black hair. Bitty stopped in his tracks. He checked behind him, the hallway had curved enough that the lady in the front could not see him.

Jack flipped through a binder on the piano. _Chopin,_ Bitty could make out across the top of the left page. He smiled, what a romantic composer for such a quiet boy.

A door clicked behind him. The girl with pink hair raised an eyebrow at him, shook her head and continued down the hallway. Bitty’s cheeks warmed pink, but his neck felt like it combusted into flames as he met Jack’s eyes through the glass pane as he turned around.

It took Jack a moment to see Bitty from under all his scarves and hats. “Bittle, what are you-“ Jack opened the door slowly, a hand on the wall and a hand behind the door.

“I promise I wasn’t being creepy-I just-I’ve never seen this part of the school and I thought ‘why don’t I do something different today? I’ve ran out of flour, but I’m not really in the mood to go on a bus right now, and music is nice-right?’ I’m sorry.” Bitty shivered.

“It’s okay.” Jack said the two words like different paragraphs, a gap between the two that made Bitty think he was going to faint. “You play?”

Internally, Bitty was sighing with relief, externally, Bitty was being let into Jack’s piano room and being sat down on a blue plastic school chair by the black leather bench and the wonderful stand-up. Jack asked something, quietly, about what composer Bitty liked. “Uh, Mozarts good?” he thought he said. Jack gave one of his signature Wry Laughs™ and found a page in his binder that was scattered in dots and dashes and angles all over it. Bitty found himself grounded by Jack’s trembling hands. Somehow, Bitty thought, this amazingly talented boy is as nervous as him. He listened in.

He recognized the song, one from his earliest memory of watching a children’s program with his mother. It was beautiful, colorful, green and red and purple, dashes of yellow. A grass stain on jeans, striped tee shirt, bright tall sunflowers, crawfish in a clear stream and rock paint drying on a child’s face, red popsicle drips. He could see a summer day. Bitty laughed as Jack finished. His face burned scarlet, and looked surprised when Bittle’s chuckle was followed by, “That was fantastic!” He clapped, eyes ignited.

“Took me a few months, though,” Jack mumbled.

“It was well worth it! Play me something else!” Eric smiled. Jack shook his head and flipped a few sheets back. This was comfortable.

“Anything against Chopin?”

“He did nothing wrong to me.” Bitty responded, hands in his lap, listening as Jack delicately set his hands on the keys.

A gentle night, small smiles, hands being held, the night dark and blue, with brilliant yellows and whites dotted through. A low summer moon and tired, but loving eyes. A slow dance, turned into a hopping and skipping and laughing mess. It felt like the whole world was silent as Jack’s hands trilled up the piano, and back down, fluttering with a gracefulness Bitty had only seen a few times when Jack thought he was alone, before practice. Scraping around the ice in lazy circles; Bitty had almost suggested to Jack that he become a figure skater.

 

There was a great pause before Jack spoke, “You never said if you play,”

Jack slid over and Bitty sat next to him. He cracked his knuckles and laughed, “All I remember is ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’, but you could call me a _pianist_.” Jack flashed a silly smile, but returned to his straight-but-pleased face.

Bitty’s fingers were too hard on the white keys, it was not smooth enough, and he spaced out each note equally. Jack began to play as well, but just with his left hand, slowly. “ _Ah, vous di-rai je, Maman…”_ He whispered. Bitty blushed. He let Jack take over, and again the boy began on Mozart. It was quite impressive to sit right _next to him_ as he practiced. Somehow, this was more intimate than anything Bitty could have imagined them together as. This was more gentle and kind and genuine than Bitty making out with him in the hallway, or going out to dinner, he could almost see a Little Jack, just old enough to reach the keyboard, plucking out the same melody he was blooming, but far less elaborate. This was Jack.

“You’re amazing-you know that, right?” Bitty said.

Jack looked at his hands, still on the piano. “Thank you.” He muttered.

“Don’t give lessons, do you?” Bitty joked.

Jack thought about it, “Sure,”

“What.”

“If… if you want to-I usually am here on Friday mornings. We could-uh, you don’t have to-“

“Jack! I would love to!” Bitty hugged him. He let go when he realized they were Far Too Close. The floor-to low ceiling window looked out at the quad below, snow had begun to fall, like sugar sifting down, fresh and new. Jack laughed, uncomfortably, but felt something like joy click in his chest. Fridays wouldn’t be so empty anymore.


End file.
